On days like today, I want to reveal my real name.
When I got divorced from my abusive ex-husband, I applied right away to get my maiden name back. I fought hard to live, and I wanted to live the rest of my life using the name I was born with. Even when I got remarried, I kept my given name. I’m never changing it.
It’s hard sometimes to write under a pseudonym here. It’s logical as an author of fiction — I want to write in a couple of genres, so it helps to create those personas. Lots of authors do that. Plus, I use my real name professionally in other capacities, so it all makes sense.
But I’m starting to wonder if it makes sense here.
I’m not ashamed of what happened to me. I’m fearful, though. When I published the book electronically via Kindle, etc., my sister told me she was afraid for my safety, despite the pseudonym. That told me my fears are not unfounded. (And my therapist said the same thing.)
I’m really not sure what to do. Maybe that’s a signal that I’m not ready to reveal myself just yet.
Today, I feel angry that I can’t be open about who I am and what happened to me.